


A Six Pack Wiser

by KissTheBoy7



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 03:11:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KissTheBoy7/pseuds/KissTheBoy7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras has an interesting kink, is persistent as usual, and Grantaire is eventually suckered into trying it out. (not without the aid of his trusty alcohol supply) E/R. Modern AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Six Pack Wiser

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: Enjolras getting off on being pissed on. His partner (Grantaire would be lovely, but anyone really will do) is reluctant at first, but once they try it, finds it insanely hot. (on the Les Mis Anon Kink Meme)

He approaches it the same way he approaches every problem: with blazing eyes, a firm tone and unrepentant insistence.

"I want you to piss on me."

Grantaire freezes, noodles falling from his chopsticks six inches from his mouth. He barely notices- he'll clean it up later. Enjolras leaning forward towards him, fingers braced on the table, his curls pushed out of his blue, blue eyes. There's nothing in his expression to suggest that this is a joke-

_As if Enjolras jokes, anyway._

"I- uh... he gapes intelligently, feeling rather like a fish out of water as he stares at him with round eyes. His brain is malfunctioning. The fact that Enjolras wants him in bed at all (or anyone, for that matter) continues to baffle him, and any special request would normally receive Grantaire's automatic and enthusiastic stamp of approval. His fingers are twitching even now in the urge to fall to his zipper, but-

But how is he supposed to take this seriously?

"Grantaire." Enjolras' voice is low and even as ever, and Grantaire is beginning to wonder if he'd misheard. He blinks, beginning to relax. Yes, that must be it. "Did you hear me?"

"I don't think so," he manages, chewing his lip. He fumbles for the paper towels to wipe up his mes, looking away to escape the intense look on his boyfriend-or-whatever-they-are's face. Just as he starts to banish the disturbing mental images this had brought to mind, Enjolras continues.

"I said, I want you to piss on me." He's exasperated now, walking around the table slowly. Grantaire leans back in his chair and raises his eyes to meet the blonde's blues again. Enjolras had been a virgin when he'd met him. Unfortunately (or fortunately, some days) for Grantaire, he was a quick study and he'd mastered the art of seduction early in their relationship. His breath is hot, lips grazing his earlobe as he leans down to his level. "Pretty please?"

It's too much, and very obviously a joke. Enjolras doesn't _say_ things like that, not unless he's got his legs up over his head and Grantaire's cock pressed up against the nerve.

The darker-haired man pushes his chair away from the table abruptly and flees, mumbling something about being busy.

In his room, he cracks open a fresh can of beer.

God does he need it.

\---

Very, very unfortunately for him, Enjolras doesn't care how "weird" it is to have this particular fetish.

"Humans are naturally disgusting," he tells him, arms sliding around Grantaire's waist from behind. His lips are on his ear again, down his neck, sucking softly on the place where it meets his shoulder. The other man squirms, increasingly uncomfortable, increasingly aroused.

He does _not_ want to do that. Does not.

How can Enjolras want to be pissed on? It's degrading. It's awful. It will smell and he'll have to wash his pretty hair. He tells him so.

"And my clothes," he supplies, his mouth curving against Grantaire's suddenly hot skin.

He's blushing out of embarrassment, he tells himself. From the secondhand humiliation. From being associated with someone so outwardly collected, and so perverted on the inside. He's like a pedophilic oreo.

Enjolras promptly tells him that pedophilia and urophilia are not the same thing. Grantaire wants to be sick knowing there's even a word for it.

\---

Even _more_ unfortunately for Grantaire, Enjolras is not the type of person to give up easily. In fact, he's one of the most dogged men in the world, and although Grantaire had thought this particular trait to be limited to social justice and political outrage and all of those things he's not interested in, apparently it extends into the realm of sex as well.

In fact, it's worse.

Two days after the original proposal, at way-too-fucking-early a.m., Grantaire is standing blearily before their toilet when Enjolras comes strolling in as casually as anything.

He pinks, and attempts to stop mid-stream. Enjolras just smirks and looks pointedly down as a droplet misses and pools on the toilet seat.

Grantaire washes his hands, like a civilized person, and bolts from the room.

The process is repeated the next day, and the next.

And the next.

Grantaire is beginning to get paranoid that Enjolras is always watching him like a hawk, looking for signs that he needs to take a piss, and keeping tabs on how much he's had to drink. It's absurd, he knows, but he can't help it! Enjolras has gone _crazy_ and that's the only explanation.

In any case, he's going to have to start holding it until he's out of the house.

Maybe Courfeyrac will let him sleep over.

\---

That's not the end of it, of course.

Five days after the proposal, it's Wednesday and Grantaire has actually gone to every class he's had this week. It's an accomplishment to say the least- he hasn't actually sat through his Classics class in the entire semester- but mostly he's using it as an excuse to get out of the house and away from Enjolras. They'd had sex last night and it had been, well, fantastic. He's not sure why he'd expected it to be anything else. Sex with Enjolras would _always_ be fantastic, whether or not he liked weirdass things in bed.

And now that he's taken the edge off... Grantaire sort of wants to try it.

Not want like want want, like it actually intrigues him. (yuck) But he loved to make Enjolras happy. He'd wanted to please him in the most obscene ways for years before they'd ever even had a proper, private conversation and certainly before he knew he had any chance with the man. He loved him, he _revered_ him. He still hasn't kicked the habit of calling him Apollo, like the sun god- because he's so damn beautiful, so inspiring. So perfect.

Grantaire would do anything for Enjolras. So what if it was embarrassing?

With this new conviction, he approaches him that night with every intention of skipping out on class the next morning. Enjolras appears to have given up on his pursuit for the moment. He's propped up on the headboard with those sexy glasses perched on his nose, reading a book as thick as his head. He's clad in flannel pajama pants that are too baggy for him, a present from Courfeyac (who hadn't let Grantaire sleep over, by the way- he'd found his predicament hilarious and recommended baking soda for the mattress) that had proved to be one of Enjolras' favorites. A ratty t-shirt hangs equally loose from his torso, but he still manages to be unbearably attractive. If Grantaire were less apprehensive right now he'd crawl into his lap knock the book to his side, have his way.

As is, he just lingers awkwardly in the doorway, licking his lips. They taste like the six pack of cheap beer he'd chugged before finding his way home in preparation of the act he was about to commit. Enjolras takes his time, folding the corner of his page before looking up. He raises an eyebrow at the way Grantaire cringes before him. "Hmm?"

"I want- I mean- if you want, I could- do that thing, you wanted me to do," he stumbles over the words like he's a lot drunker than he is. Or maybe he is that drunk. He can't really tell anymore. He can't believe that he's doing this.

There's a pause and then it seems to dawn on Enjolras. He snaps his book shut and sets it on the nightstand, slipping out of bed to pad over to him in intrigue.

"Oh? Would you do that for me?" There's a smile beneath his words, and if he were the type to do so Grantaire thinks he might be beaming. The closer he gets the tighter his gut grows, almost painful in a warm, moan-worthy way. If only he wasn't obligated to stifle his erection right now he'd already be pressed all up against him, tugging away his shirt, mmm...

The other man has stepped into his personal bubble now, not that Grantaire minds a bit. Apprehension is making him a little bit nauseous. Or maybe that's the beer. Either way, he wants to throw up a little and Enjolras seems to sense that he might back out because his fingers are suddenly gripping his bicep tightly, dragging him towards the bed.

"Please," he says, just like he had the other day and Grantaire nearly melts. He sounds so earnest. He's not teasing at all, he realizes belatedly. Funny how the beer was teaching him things he would never have realized sober. A pleasant fog is keeping him from outright panicking as Enjolras pushes him down onto the bed, dragging his zip down before slipping down to the floor to kneel between his thighs.

It's not the way he blows him, graceful mouth moving smoothly up and down his length, like a fucking work of art except that Grantaire can't paint in motion, in feeling, but he's damn well going to try.

No. It's not like that at all.

Underneath those fair lashes Enjolras looks _desperate._ It seems absurd that anyone could be desperate like this, for this, but hey, he's drunk and his bladder is full and Enjolras looks like he really, really wants it.

He reaches up to massage Grantaire's bare thighs, tipping his head towards his soft cock, waiting as patiently as he can.

The first stream comes as much to Grantaire's surprise as it does Enjolras'. Huh. He must be drunker than he'd thought. He clamps down immediately, beginning to apologize, but Enjolras long fingers trail through the wetness glistening on his cheek and his eyes are dark, staring up at Grantaire in accusation.

_Don't you dare back out on me now, R._

His cock twitches and he winces, shaking his head, gradually releasing his control again. A more tentative spurt strays into that golden hair and he forgets to be horrified, because Enjolras' hair looks so damn _good_ when it's wet and he _moans_ out loud, and that's enough for Grantaire.

When he lets go, he lets go.

It's almost like an orgasm when he does, watching the stream soak through his thin t-shirt, into his pants, darkening the fabric and staining it and he is so past caring. He groans along with him as Enjolras leans back, squeezing his eyes shut as it hits his face, dribbling down his forehead and around his nose and over his lips and off his chin. It's hot and it's _hot_ and Enjolras, fuck, Enjolras is hot kneeling in a puddle of cooling piss, panting and rubbing himself through the damp fabric over his cock and holy fuck he's never seen anything so hot in his goddamn life.

He's _hard_ and he's only barely finished.

"Apollo," he groans, dizzy with lust and possibly the alcohol and for once Enjolras doesn't say anything, might not even notice he's drunk as he falls to his knees beside him and tackles him to the floor.

They don't make love tonight. They fuck like bunnies, like animals on the damp patch on the carpet. Enjolras writhes and shouts like it's the first night all over again and Grantaire heartily agrees with the sentiment, driving into him, his bitten nails leaving indents in the other man's hips as he forces his face down into the floor. By the time they're done, a good third of it has probably evaporated.

His golden Apollo is exhausted, sprawled out on his chest, well-fucked and soaked and for the first time since Grantaire has met him he doesn't insist on cleaning up their mess the moment they make it.

As for Grantaire, he'll freak out about this in the morning. Right now he's happy, he's drunk, and Enjolras is ecstatic too and he doesn't see that often enough. He pulls himself up to bite at Grantaire's ear, to kiss him all over, to murmur his thanks in a thousand fervent ways.

All in a day's work.

And a six pack's.

The next time Enjolras asks to try something new, he's just going to crack open a beer and go at it.


End file.
